Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5)

by Catherine Bybee

  Still, like anyone not on their deathbed, she tried to get a few things done. When she heard her doorbell for the second time that day, she thought of the monkey on her bed upstairs and wondered what Glen was sending her now.

  A man holding an invoice greeted her with a smile. “You Miss Kildare?”

  “I am.”

  “You asked for delivery in the afternoon.” He looked down at her bathrobe and smirked.

  Mary glanced beyond him to see the truck from the place she’d purchased her living room set.

  “Right. Yeah . . . c’mon in.” She opened the door wide and pointed to the room behind her. “It goes in here.”

  The man waved his hand behind him, signaling his help.

  Then he bent down and picked up a box. “This was here.”

  She turned away and left the door open while the deliverymen did their job.

  In the kitchen, she opened the box to find a case of chicken noodle soup. The card with it said get well soon.

  Smiling as she pulled a can from the box, she sent a quick text to Glen. Thank you!

  There wasn’t a reply, but then again, it was close to midnight in London.

  The time difference was becoming desperately old.

  Between the soup, the new living room, and the feeling of being cared for, even from thousands of miles away, Mary fell into bed at close to eight, hugging her monkey and dreaming of Glen.

  The day Glen was supposed to be flying back to the States, she got a text saying he was delayed a full day. He ended his text with I’ll make it up to you.

  Between all the hours she’d spent in bed and the time change, they hadn’t spoken on the phone in two days. Mary used to think people who spent all their time texting polluted good communication. Now she realized that waking up to a text was her and Glen’s way of saying they were there, and that they cared.

  Mary forced herself into the shower early. Her cough was worse, but her headache and fever felt better.

  Much as she hated spreading, or possibly spreading, germs, she had two clients who’d already rescheduled once on her calendar for the morning.

  With a cough suppressant onboard and antibacterial hand wipes at the ready, Mary drove to work.

  The parking lot was full, leaving her to use the spaces behind the building. In the most recent past she’d moved her car at lunchtime when several employees in the building left for lunch. She felt bad, but in light of everything crazy in her life, she felt justified in claiming a closer spot to the door.

  Another message from Officer Taylor was on her phone when she turned it back on after her second client left.

  “We brought Mr. Golf in.”

  Mary could tell from Officer Taylor’s voice he didn’t have good news.

  “And?”

  “He consented to the prints. He said, and I’m quoting here, ‘I was never in that bitch’s home, so go for it.’”

  She closed her eyes. “He didn’t match.”

  “Nope. There was a partial on the door to your office, but nothing matched what we found at your house.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “Someone who has been at your office has prints on your mirror. My first suspect would be a boyfriend . . .”

  “Glen and I were in New York when this happened.”

  “Right. The prints could have belonged to a friend who has been at the office and in your home.”

  Mary thought of Dakota, even Walt. But neither of them had been by her office in months . . . not since several weeks before Leo was born. “That isn’t possible.”

  “Which brings us back to your client list as suspects. Just not Jacob Golf. Do you have cleaning people come to your house?”

  “No. I can’t afford that.”

  Officer Taylor sighed. “Then I suggest you pull out your calendar and take another look. How often is your office cleaned?”

  “Once a week. There’s a service that comes on Fridays.”

  “Find out how good they are about cleaning door handles. If we can narrow down a timeline on when that print was left, we might be able to narrow down suspects.”

  “There’s no way this was random,” she said.

  “Not unless you bring people from your office into your home and have them in your upstairs bathroom.”

  Mary went ahead and drove to the deli instead of taking the short walk. Her head was already starting to pound, and she had no desire to cook when she got home.

  The counter wasn’t that busy. Mary flagged down Carla before she placed her order.

  “What kind of soup do you have?” Mary asked.

  Carla did a double take. “You sick?”

  Mary puffed out her lip like a three-year-old. “I’ve felt better.”

  “I’ve got you covered.” Carla scribbled something on her ticket and tossed it up for the cooks behind the counter to fill.

  Mary caught the eyes of one of the cooks she didn’t know by name. “Enferma?”

  She understood the question and nodded.

  The cook smiled with a short nod before placing a massive bowl up under the hot lights.

  “This will do it.” Carla placed the soup along with a basket of crackers next to her.

  Mary didn’t try to identify the type of soup before putting a spoonful in her mouth. It had a little kick of spice and a soothing feel as it filled her belly. “Perfect.”

  Carla leaned against the counter. “Hector makes a special batch every time the flu goes around. It’s not even on the menu.”

  She waved to the cook. “Thanks, Hector.”

  Carla watched her take a few bites. “So where is your sidekick today?”

  “My who?”

  “You know, that guy who’s always here with you.”

  Mary’s first thought was Glen, but he’d only been here once. “You mean Kent?”

  “Right. The man is going to turn into corned beef.”

  “He’s in here a lot, I take it.”

  “Constantly. He always seems to be looking for someone when he walks in the door. My guess is that’s you.”

  Mary felt her forehead getting hot with the soup. “I think you’re right.”

  “He likes you.”

  Mary set her spoon down. “I know. I’ve told him no, but I don’t think that’s stopping him from hoping I’ll change my mind.”

  Carla leaned forward on her forearms. “So how is it going with the exclusive boyfriend?”

  Mary found her happy place. “He’s fabulous.”

  Mary decided she spent her life on the phone. She’d just put a tea pod into her Keurig coffeemaker and pressed the button when her cell phone rang.

  “Mary Kildare.”

  “You’re a bitch!” Female voice, hostile.

  Mary stopped looking through her mail. “Who is this?”

  “I cannot believe you had Jacob hauled into the police station. First you tell him about my affair, then you do this . . . to what? Cover your ass?”

  “Nina.”

  “You know, I was told that therapists were just as screwed up as their clients. But you take it to a whole new level.”

  It took every ounce of energy to avoid engaging in an argument. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the Golfs could both benefit from seeing a psychiatrist. “I’m sorry you feel that way. Please understand that after my last conversation with your husband, I had to go to the authorities.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it was to walk away from that man, and now you’re giving him all kinds of ammunition to blame me for everything. You’re such a bitch. How do you even know a man was responsible for breaking in? Look in the mirror, women can be just as vengeful.” The woman was hysterical.

  “It’s clear we’re not going to have a productive conversation. I’m truly sorry you feel the way you do—”

  “You’re not sorry for anything. You will be. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Nina hung up.

  Mary tossed her phone on the counter. “I do not ha
ve the energy for this today.”

  She took her lukewarm tea outside on her back patio and tried to call Glen.

  It went to instant voice mail.

  “Hey, Glen . . .” She sighed into her message. “It seems like we’re always missing each other. Let me start with the good news. I’m feeling a little better. Between the flowers, the monkey, and the soup, you’re making me quite spoiled. Thank you for all of it. The bad news . . . Jacob wasn’t a match on the fingerprints. Which puts us back at square one. Another one of my clients? Someone in the building . . . I don’t even know where to start looking. I’m frustrated, but at least everything has been quiet. No peeping Toms or anything like that.” She laughed at her words. “Now I have Jacob’s wife on a rampage. Nothing I can’t handle, but again . . . it’s frustrating. Doesn’t help that I don’t feel a hundred percent. And I miss you. I really hope you miss me as much as I miss you. I know that sounds selfish and completely high school, but I would hate to be the only one this pent up with longing. Boy, that sounded terribly sappy. I should probably delete this message. I won’t, but I probably should. Anyway . . . I’m home for the night. If you get this before ten my time, call me. I’ll be in bed working toward that hundred percent mark for tomorrow. Talk soon.”

  She looked at the phone in her hand and opened a picture that was taken of the two of them when they went to Catalina. If it wasn’t for the swimsuit, she’d make the image stick on her lock screen so that every time she glanced at the time, she’d see Glen’s face.

  Mary’s phone started ringing every thirty minutes after nine o’clock. No one spoke, just called, breathed, and listened.

  Her first thought was Nina. The woman wanted to upset her. What better way than to interrupt her sleep? By eleven, Mary turned off her cell phone altogether.

  Eleven thirty her home phone rang.

  The line was silent.

  “This is the definition of harassment,” she said into the quiet line. “Something I’ll need to report to the police.”

  The line went dead . . . and at midnight, it rang again.

  Mary unplugged the second line in her room and turned the volume off on the phone downstairs. She’d unhook the thing altogether but her alarm system connected through the landline.

  By two o’clock she finally fell asleep. When she woke, her throat was sore again and her headache was back.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Glen had to listen to Mary’s message three times to hear the whole thing. Reception over the Atlantic wasn’t always the best.

  “I miss you, too,” he whispered to himself. “You’re not alone in that.”

  “Now you’re talking to yourself.” Jason smiled from the captain’s seat of the cockpit.

  “It was Mary.”

  “So I guessed.”

  “The only suspect they had just came back clean. His prints don’t match the house.”

  “Maybe he wore gloves.”

  “Yeah, but someone left fingerprints in her house that matched the door of her office. Now she has irate clients and she’s been sick all week. I just want to take her to the Bahamas until all this is past.”

  “She might like that.”

  “At least nothing new has happened. No dead cars or broken-in doors.”

  “Sad that you have to set the barometer so low.”

  “It makes me wonder if this is a onetime thing. Which I want, but then we may never know who did it . . . double-edged sword.”

  “Did she get the monkey?”

  Glen laughed . . . “Wait, how did you know about the monkey?”

  “Our secretaries talk.”

  “Yes . . . she got the monkey.” What a brilliant idea that had been.

  The words she’d used in her message replayed in his head and his smile slowly fell.

  Glen opened his message center again and listened for the forth time. Between the flowers, the monkey, and the soup, you’re making me quite spoiled. Thank you for all of it.

  “What flowers?”

  “Talking to yourself again.”

  Glen waved his phone in the air. “Mary said thanks for the flowers, the monkey, and the soup.”

  Jason shrugged. “And?”

  “I didn’t send her flowers or soup.” The hair on the nape of his neck stood up.

  “Maybe Dakota did. She’s been sick. People send flowers when people are sick.”

  Logical. “Wouldn’t Dakota leave a card?”

  “I would think.”

  “Mary thought I’d sent them.”

  “You’re the man in her life. It’s safe to assume if she got anything from an admirer or even a friend without a card, she’d probably believe it was from you. Call her.”

  Glen glanced at his watch. “It’s two in the morning there.”

  “Then call her in the morning.”

  He did . . . and the phone went to voice mail. “I’m home. Your message came through last night. No, you’re not the only one. I miss you too much. I’m not happy to hear about your client, or his wife. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about this weekend. I thought the monkey was a stroke of brilliance. As for the flowers and soup, I’d love to take credit, but I didn’t send flowers. I hope the soup was in a sealed can. Damn, saying that out loud makes me worry that it wasn’t. Call when you get this message. Don’t worry about waking me. I miss you, Mary.”

  There were squad cars outside her office building when Mary arrived.

  “What now?”

  She walked into the building to find three men and one woman in uniform standing outside her office door.

  The door to the financial firm across the hall was open. The secretary pointed at Mary as she walked up.

  “What happened now?”

  “Miss Kildare?”

  “That’s me.” Mary glanced around the policemen and noticed a mess of glass on the floor of her office.

  “It appears that someone threw a rock through your office window last night.”

  She pushed past him to look at the damage. Luckily the treated glass kept the entire window from shattering, but whoever had done this had made sure they had a couple of handfuls of rocks. A half a dozen holes the size of her fist had taken out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “We attempted to reach you before you arrived.”

  Mary covered a cough with her forearm. “Anything other than rocks inside?” She glanced around the small space, wondered if the property owner was responsible for the glass. Her pocketbook couldn’t take much more.

  “One of the rocks had the word bitch on it.”

  The Golfs. Could be Nina, maybe Jacob . . . Mary would bet money the phone calls the night before and the rocks in the window were the work of the same people.

  “Is Officer Taylor on today?”

  “Dennis?”

  “I didn’t catch his first name. He’s been working on my case.”

  Mary dropped her purse on her desk as the glass beneath her feet embedded further in the carpet.

  The officer used her office phone and handed it to her once Officer Taylor was on the line.

  “You can’t catch a break,” he said.

  “Broken glass, a rock with that special word on it.” Mary saw the audience outside her office door. “The wife of the man you had in this week gave me an unpleasant call yesterday. Said a few things that make me think this is her.”

  “Mrs. Golf?”

  “Yes. Then my phones rang all night until I finally turned them off.”

  “She called all night?”

  “I’m not sure it was her. The caller breathed into the phone. Reminded me of my prom date working up the nerve to ask me out.”

  “Put Officer Murray on the phone,” Officer Taylor told her.

  Mary handed the phone back over, looked again at her feet. “Can I clean this up?”

  The cop nodded and stepped out of the office.

  She found a utility closet down the hall and brought back a broom and dustpan. She was bent over one of the
chairs when her first client showed up. “Looks like we should reschedule.”

  Mary glanced up to find the female half of a new couple she’d been seeing. This would be the second time she had to put them off.

  “I’m sorry. I’m having a bit of a domestic issue right now.”

  Her client looked at the mess. “You can say that again.”

  Officer Murray walked around her client, handed the phone over. “We have a few questions.”

  Her client backed out of the office. “I’ll call.”

  Mary knew she’d never see the woman again.

  Reports were taken, names and times from the previous night’s phone calls were written down. The rocks inside the office were put in evidence bags, and Mary was left with a mess and unexpected ventilation in her space.

  The police filed out of the office, leaving silence in their wake.

  The secretary from next door poked her head inside. “You okay?”

  Mary moaned. “I’m having a really shitty week.”

  “Looks like it.”

  They both turned to the sound of feet running up the hall.

  Kent stopped short, out of breath. “I saw the cops outside.”

  Mary spread her hand as if she were on a game show showing the prizes. “Someone doesn’t like me.”

  Kent hardly glanced at the damage before staring at her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. It happened last night. I just need to clean the mess, talk to the property manager about patching this up.” Somehow she needed to do all this and see every client she’d pushed off until that night. All on a few hours sleep.

  “I’m just across the hall,” the secretary said.

  “Thanks.” Mary pulled her hair back and continued to clean up the glass.

  “What time are you off tonight?” Kent asked.

  “Late, but I’m okay. I’m pretty sure I know who did this, and other than being a pain, they’re all bark.”

  “This doesn’t look like bark to me.”

  She was pissed but didn’t feel threatened. And it was time Kent understood she didn’t need him running to her rescue every day.

  “I’m all right. Please, don’t feel obligated to watch over me. Glen will be here tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll come up with a solution to all this.”